Late Afternoon
by Felandris09
Summary: Cullen is plagued by uncertainty.


The tower office's front door stands open, inviting a burst of air to circulate. It eases the mid-morning sun's burn, unusually strong for late Kingsway. Bright, almost blinding light surrounds the soldier giving his report.

Cullen sits opposite him, trying his best to keep eye contact and nodding when he's hardly paying attention. It's a skill he's learned during his career with the Order. He hopes to have perfected it enough not to disappoint the young man, who has prepared well.

A pang of guilt makes him insert an understanding _mmh_ or an interested _I see_ amid mentions of construction, troop numbers and other important matters he can't concentrate on.

His mind is with the Inquisitor. Any other time the thought of her would make him smile, but today it only serves to deepen his frown.

Ever since his return last night she's been distant- not unfriendly or outright dismissive, but her demeanour has been _different_. It's been too subtle to justify addressing- which doesn't help because he's left racking his brain, analytical as he is. His mind keeps jumping between their recent conversations searching for possible triggers to her behaviour.

He was away for a week on a rare field mission, returning late last night. A group of marauders wreaking havoc in the Hinterlands had required action. She hadn't wanted either of them to go, suggesting they send the Chargers instead. Cullen had insisted the Inquisition show appropriate presence. As with any other conflict they'd resolved it- _or had they?_ She'd agreed eventually and let it go- _or had she?_ What's happened in his week of absence- at Skyhold, in her mind? _Has she perhaps come to conclusions on their relationship?_

Cullen closes his eyes, clenches them shut to ease the sting of uncertainty in his chest, that simmer of worry brewing in stomach. He knows he's most likely agonising about nothing. It's probably a mere side effect of the travel stress, of their first separation in so long. _Probably_. _Most likely_.

He'd returned half a day earlier than planned, so the empty courtyard greeting the party didn't come as a shock. When he joined her in their quarters, though, her welcome was pleasantly surprised, friendly- but not warm. He snuck into the room, shed his armour and clothes and got into bed. She let him snuggle up, accepted his embrace- but she didn't lean into it, didn't return it. Her arm, her thigh, her face remained motionless when he caressed them. He blamed tiredness and allowed her to return to sleep.

When she still averted his eyes this morning he first felt the nag, the simmer, that little voice warning him something's not right.

He clears his throat, noticing its dryness. The recruit appears to be finished, so he mumbles a few words of praise while giving an inward sigh.

When the door falls shut he sinks into his chair. His head drops back and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

 _Surely she's just been busy and things will be back to normal soon… won't they?_

Cullen and Trevelyan miss each other for lunch. They've both got work to do, so he tries not to dwell on it as they'll meet at council. He looks forward to it a little- to seeing her again, knowing she's all right, _they're_ all right. If nothing else, the meeting should ease his overworked mind.

When council finally starts, it doesn't lessen his worries. On the contrary- with every cruel little minute that ticks by he gets a little more tense, a tad more nervous.

They're always professional at the war table. Yet he cannot help but notice how her eye contact with him seems forced, how she averts her gaze too soon, subtly turns away.

By the time the meeting draws to a close his frown is back with full force, edged into his face. Tension spans across his shoulders, his entire torso.

When they break up the Inquisitor shoots him a quick smile before following Leliana out the room, leaving him looking after her.

He only realises he's been staring at the open door when Josephine's caring voice cuts into his thoughts. "Is everything all right, Commander?"

Whatever the issue, he'll need clarity- one way or another, before it affects his work, his sanity.

A mumbled excuse, and he tries not to run towards the corridor, walking hastily until he catches up with her as she opens the door to the grand hall.

He regrets grabbing her arm when she startles, turning with a gasp. When she sees him her expression softens, but it's still guarded the same way that's been making him uneasy all day.

"Look," he begins before all words evade him. He's gawking at her, helpless as he loses himself in her eyes. Only today it's as if he's doing something forbidden, like he's lost the right to.

"What is it?" Concern lies in her voice, but there's also caution woven into its warm notes.

Cullen's fist clenches when he responds. "Can we talk? Later today? Maybe up in ou- _your_ quarters?" For a second he's laughably proud of how steadily the words come out.

Trevelyan's brow furrows in an almost compassionate expression. Hurt clutches at his chest. _Is she pitying him?_

"We probably should." Air leaves his lungs from the verbal punch to his stomach. Though she cannot be oblivious to his reaction, she continues.

"This afternoon- after your troop exercise?"

He nods, or so he thinks. His knees are shaking and his throat is dry again. She flashes him a smile then turns to address some noble.

Again he's alone, now in the hall, staring at nothing. This time Dorian startles him out of his haze. His words are a mere blur; it's the gentle grip on his shoulder that alerts Cullen to the Tevinter's presence. He manages an apologetic smile before turning to flee from the confines of the hall, from the merciless pounding of its noise on his aching temples.

When he's outside he stands still and closes his eyes. His head falls back, and he inhales deeply, absorbing the fresh air's calming purity.

Then he strides off towards the training grounds, fresh determination in his step.

Soon he'll know.

Cullen's resolve doesn't last. As the exercise nears its end his entire body is gripped by restlessness. It flutters in his chest, festers in his gut and throbs in his skull. A familiar fear of loss, a long-gone anxiety, is lurking on the edge of his mind in eerie reminiscence of a time he'd so proudly overcome.

He's first to arrive at the Inquisitor's quarters. As he scans the room he notices the stretch of the fine wooden floors, the curtains' breezy flutter over the open windows- as if it's his last time here. He contemplates leaving his key.

Yet he decides to make himself at home. He removes his armour piece by piece, building a neat pile in the old armchair. There is no need, but the little ritual seems to calm his shaking hands, settle his unsteady breath.

At this point he fully expects her to end their relationship; _Maker_ , he's almost come to terms with it.

He spins around at the sound of his name. Trevelyan's smile is calm, gentle, and her eyes bear that much-missed warmth. Strangely, his apprehension increases.

It strikes him how fresh, how radiant she looks. Long tresses frame her face, highlighting rather than hiding her high cheekbones. The light blouse and floral skirt hug her curves with a grace unique to her. He wants to pull her close and kiss all their worries away. But he doesn't. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up when she finally speaks.

"Cullen, I'm sorry if I've been distant. The past week hasn't been easy for me, and I know I've been reclusive since your return. It's nothing to do with you, I just haven't- it's been…" Her voice trails off and she looks genuinely remorseful, searching his face for a reaction.

He blinks. "So- you're not ending it?"

Trevelyan's eyes widen in shock as she blurts out, " _Ending_ _it_? Cullen, what are you on about?"

Amid the haze of confusion there's a tingle as the knot in his stomach loosens a fraction. But he's cautious yet. "I mean- you seem to have been keeping your distance. I thought-I", the beginnings of an embarrassed flush creep up his skin as he scrambles for words. His hand finds the back of his neck in a gesture he won't outgrow in this lifetime. He continues, his voice hushed. "After our argument I thought you'd perhaps decided that…" he swallows, "you no longer want to-"

She cuts him off, eyes glistening with emotion. " _Maker_ , Cullen. How could I ever do that? I'm so sorry, I had no idea-"

His body's impact interrupts her, nearly knocking her over. The force of his embrace must equal the weight that just fell off his chest. Gloom is making a slow retreat, allowing relief to take its place. Cullen smiles, _really_ smiles, remembering how good it feels. They hold each other tight, and he sighs, resting his forehead against hers.

Suddenly his own eyes sting. "I- I'm a silly man. But I was so worried." His voice is shaking still.

"My silly lion," she says as her fingers rake through his curls. "Had I known, I'd have sought you out earlier. How could I not have-

She is cut off again, this time by the velveteen caress of his lips as they find hers. Her sigh is relief, joy and _welcome back_ all condensed into one dear noise. Cullen's tongue slips into her mouth, meeting hers in gentle exploration. His fingers have disappeared underneath her blouse, seeking her skin, her texture, her warmth. Lust stirs in his body, the most welcome of changes from the apprehension that was eating away at him. He hugs her even tighter, evoking a twitch between his legs. Her moan signals that she felt it too.

He breaks the kiss to nibble at her neck as the scent of her hair tickles his nose. With each breath he notices the press of her breasts.

"There _is_ something I need to tell you," she says abruptly. He leans back to look at her, the tension threatening to resurface. The little smile playing around her lips keeps it at bay. "It can wait until later though."

Their eyes connect, and he all but wants to dive into the depths of hers. His palms cup the sides of her face as he exhales, his chest heavy with emotion. "I want to make love to you." He knows how needy he sounds but doesn't care.

Her hot whisper sends a shiver down his spine, and elsewhere. " _Please_."

One hand grasps her bottom and the other her back, and he sweeps her up. He carries her to the bed, _still theirs,_ and sets her down into its luxurious comfort. Her eyes are half-closed and she grins at him.

He kneels and removes her sandals. Her right foot is first; he takes it in both hands and brings it to his face. He runs his nose along its underside from heel to toes. The foot shakes and there's a laugh, but he keeps his hold. A press of his thumbs and he's drawing circles into her sole, evoking a pleased sigh. When her legs become heavy as she relaxes, he stops, not without earning himself a frustrated whine. It becomes a gasp, then a moan when he flicks his tongue against her big toe then sucks it into his mouth. He swirls around it, nabs it with his teeth then places a kiss on it. Her next toe is the slightly crooked one that was once broken. He kisses down its oddly curved length before taking it in and sucking hard. When he gets to the end of the row of toes Trevelyan is breathing heavily. Her other foot receives the same affectionate attention. By the time Cullen is done massaging, nibbling and sucking she's writhing, ready for more.

Next is a graze of his teeth on one slender ankle, then the other. A scrape of his nails against her calves, a lick up the length of her shin. He travels up her legs, rediscovering her after this week of separation that felt like blasted eternity.

Cullen sits on the bed and pushes up the hem of her skirt to reveal her knees. He leans forward, lifts both legs and laps at the back of one knee while tickling the other. His reward is the most endearing giggle. The next object of inspection will be her thighs, and the skirt rides up further.

Trevelyan's head is propped up on a pillow. Cullen looks at her as he kisses up her right leg, over the thin layer of delicate hair. The further he ascends, the more he can hear he breathe, feel her tremble, smell her wanting him.

Fingers dig into flesh as his lips continue their journey. When he gets to the apex of her thighs they both draw a deep, shuddering breath. He's been so starved of her, he literally wants to eat her up. But he denies them both, starting again from her left knee instead.

He grins at her huff but pays her skin, her flesh the same tribute as he nibbles and strokes his way upwards.

This time he pauses, his eyes settling on her smalls- or more specifically on the damp spot down the front. Arousal has taken the place of worry, bubbling in his stomach, leaving his heart pounding and his cock straining. He's painfully hard but wants to finish his adorations first, bring her to completion before taking his own pleasure from her.

She looks at him from under heavy lids, her eyes almost black as he removes her smalls. Her leg rises in shaky assistance.

A groan escapes him and he wets his lips as he sets eyes on his prize. She's just as alluring as he remembers, but it's been far too long since he tasted her. Still, he takes a moment to look at her- the pale skin of her mound she's kept free of hair; the swollen layers of flesh, a darker shade of pink; the sheen of moisture coating her.

He might just sit staring in awe if it weren't for her whisper, "Cullen. _Please_."

As he settles between her legs, his thumbs massage her buttocks and he places her thighs on his shoulders.

His eyes fall closed as the scent of her want hits him. Notes of moss and sweet almonds, hints of sweat and honey fill the small space between them.

Her perfume is his guide. Light, open-mouthed kisses down her outer lips are first. He savours her hiss, the jerk of her hips at the sudden sensation.

His nose parts her folds and his tongue travels up her slit. He feels rather than sees her stomach quiver.

One by one, he sucks her folds into his mouth. A shudder surges through her body.

Now he looks, makes sure she is watching. Her eyes follow his tongue as it laps on the bundle of flesh atop her sex- the part of her that exists purely for being pleasured. A languid movement, in synch with her whimper that's long-lost music to his ears.

He swirls his tongue around the hard pebble once, twice, smiles against it when she bucks into him.

An instant's loss of contact ensues before, at long last, his tongue dives into her again. The lovers groan in harmony.

He strengthens his hold on her buttocks to keep her in place before pulling away. When his tongue thrusts back in, he relishes her tightness, her texture and _Maker_ , her flavour. It's subtly different from what he remembers- somewhat richer, tangier. He cannot get enough of it as he continues dipping in and out while allowing his nose to brush against her nubbin.

His jaw will hurt after this but he couldn't care less- he's too busy, too giddy devouring her again.

She's more vocal now, her moans and mewls more echoing his licks and laps. He slows down to draw it out for her. Her fingers wind into his hair, and her words are barely coherent. "Don't stop, oh please, don't stop."

Her plea emboldens him, rouses his masculine instincts. He shuffles up, changing the angle before sinking his index finger into her. He growls when she tightens around it, pulling it into her slick depths. Wet, delicious little sounds blend with her enticing enunciations.

He smacks his lips then closes them on her pearl once more, nudging it with his tongue. A long lap teases at the hard shaft. Slender digits tighten in his tresses, long legs close around his head and she babbles breathlessly.

He revels in her lust; every sound, every twitch is his prize, his homecoming.

With a delighted hum, he sucks- lightly at first, then harder, pulling the nub deep into his mouth. Trevelyan tears out a few hairs as her hips lift and she convulses around his finger, her liquid heat spilling on his face. His name erupts from her lips in an ecstatic chant, _Cullencullencullencullen_.

When it subsides both are panting. Cullen rests his head on her thigh while shaky fingers stroke tousled curls.

A layer of slick covers his afternoon stubble. He licks his lips, savouring the remnants of her release.

A couple of pecks on her mound and he sets out to caress his way up her torso- only to find it still covered by her now-creased blouse.

He chuckles at his overeager negligence and opens it. Each uncovered patch of skin is grazed with a kiss as the buttons come undone.

With visible effort she props herself up so he can remove the blouse. Thankfully she unfastens her band for him, and he flings it away. Their eyes lock as his mouth latches onto her left breast.

He sucks with hunger, pulling all of her rosy areola into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the impossibly soft flesh.

Trevelyan arches up with a hiss. Cullen's tongue flicks against her other peak before he blows then watches it harden as she shivers.

On a sudden impulse he breathes a kiss below her bellybutton before moving up to face her.

At once she pulls him close and their mouths meet, sharing her essence.

A look, a sigh and he enters her with a languid, effortless stroke. As he fills her and she stretches around him, Cullen resists the urge to plunge into her. Back at last, he's sheathed in her silken heat and wants to relish every moment.

She looks at him, all her love reflected in a single gaze. Her hands trace his spine while her legs wrap around him, showing she is ready. He nods.

They move together, rolling their hips in that oldest of motions. Each time their bodies meet they linger for a second, pressing against each other.

Her legs sit behind his knees then move to his waist and finally up to his armpits so they can get closer, deeper, _into each other_.

Fingers intertwine as hisses and gasps fill the room. They've fucked many times, but today they're making slow, indulgent love- soothing the ache of absence, absorbing each other in their rhythmic, unhurried pursuit of climax. The lovers kiss, nibble and bite, rub their noses, bring their foreheads together.

Cullen can feel the tightness building. His lips never leave hers as his hand moves to stroke where she's swollen and throbbing for him.

While their tongues play he flicks his thumb against the stiff bud then around it, matching his pressure with the increasing speed of her breath.

Climax is sweet and intimate. Trevelyan's mouth opens in a silent cry as she throws her head back, grabbing hold of his shoulders. Cullen follows her, hips bucking, burying his face against her neck. Climax is quiet intensity, unfolding itself in hushed groans and the gentle smack of flesh.

Eventually her spasms subside and his length softens inside her.

He slides off her and cuddles up by her side, idly kissing her cheek as she pulls up the covers. They lie there holding hands for an undefined amount of time.

"I missed you," she says, her thumb stroking his knuckles. He sighs an incredulous chuckle at how foolish he's been.

Outside the sun begins to set so they reluctantly get up and ready for dinner.

Cullen is dressed first while his love is still in her skirt and breast band. She's dawdling, staring out the window where streaks of crimson are weaving themselves into the afternoon's pale blue.

"So what were you going to tell me?" he asks.

Her abrupt turn almost evokes his earlier worries, makes his heart skip a beat. The hesitancy in her features gives way to a smile, of a brightness he hasn't quite seen before. He knows then there's nothing to fear.

Trevelyan walks up to him with her chest still half-bare, mumbling an apology. When she's standing in front of him her hands find his. Realisation of what she's about to say hits him an instant before she speaks.

"I'm with child."

Cullen's senses go numb. His vision swims, sounds blur and he forgets to breathe. Somewhere on the fringe of his consciousness he faintly hears her say she's about six weeks gone and fine, just a little tired.

A brief, sharp pain brings him back to reality. He's sunk to his knees and his shaky hands find her waist, hugging her yet-flat abdomen. His chest _no_ , his entire body swells with a blessed, wondrous joy he never knew existed.

In this moment he realises how Kinloch Hold, Kirkwall, Haven, how his life until now with all its torments and horrors has been a prelude- to living with her, to being a father, a _family_. In this moment he understands the path set out for him. Pulling her closer, he silently thanks their creator.

He tastes salt, his own tears, as he rains kisses over where their child is growing, _right now_. If he had a mirror he could see himself grinning like the happiest fool in all of Thedas.

A look at her reflects the same emotion as she smiles back at him, her fingers once again woven into his curls.

He shakes his head, shrugs in delighted incredulity. She nods in both reassurance and understanding, still smiling in that ethereally feminine, _maternal_ manner.

Stroking her back, he rests his face against her belly. He listens in quiet, awed affection as the descending sun bathes them in gold and coral.

"I love you," he whispers, to both of them.

He's never meant it more.


End file.
